


The Thief Who Stole Her Heart

by LordFlausch



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: AU - 18th Century France, Acting, Comtesse, Crime, Crossdressing, F/F, Family, Friendship, Life Hardships, Low Society vs High Society, Loyalty Crisis, Past Lives, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Build, Theft, deep conversation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-16 03:49:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12334905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LordFlausch/pseuds/LordFlausch
Summary: After making a bet, you, a thief, go up to steal from Comtesse Guillard during a soirée and set off a series of struggle, scandal and secrecy that threatens to slip out of control the further you get in - yet something keeps you locked to it. To her. And your past is sure to knock on the door as well at some point.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Blame the Halloween event for giving Widowmaker voice lines that make me gayer than I already am. Blame my imagination to come up with this.

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself to slip in with the rather large group of guests that would enter the castle any moment now. You linger just out of the view of the guards, but for the incoming nobles, it seems like you are admiring the expertly cut bushes and plants the Comtesse keeps in front of her castle. As soon as the small crowd has passed, you slip behind them, staying just enough away for them to not feel uncomfortable, and for the guards, it seems like you belong. They are there to keep out unwanted guests such as enemies, who would be thrown in the dungeons, as well as common people and thieves, whom you actually belong to. Your fine outfit conceals that fact, but you aren't here to steal anyway.  
Nothing big, that is.  
You're here because of a bet.


	2. Chapter 2

_The evening was warm, and you and some of the people you consider family sit in the small building you live in, enjoying a glass of cheap wine and sharing stories._

_“So there I was, directly behind Chevalier Bescond, moving to steal his purse. He was busy talking to some guy who was too busy drooling himself to notice me... I struck, and I had a whole bag of gold all to myself.”_

_Your brothers and sisters nod, laughing along as Pierre describes how he spent the money – on food and clothes, alcohol and women. But when he finishes his tale, he gets quiet and looks over to you._

_“What's with you, ____? The most dangerous thing you've ever done?”_

_You chuckle as you remember the occurrence, taking a sip from your wine._

_“That would've been Baron Auclair, back when I lived in the south.”_

_“Oooohohoho, you gotta tell that story!”_

_You look around, taking in the expectant faces of your family, and chuckle again._

_“Fine. It was a chilly night, and I really was low on everything – clothes, food, shelter – so I basically sneaked into his castle and stole clothes, ate a bit of the leftovers and slept with the horses, and rode away on one in the next morning. He was furious, but he never saw me. I sold the horse in the second next town before someone caught me on it.”_

_“You got into the castle?!”_

_“Yeah. Was pretty easy. I've gotten into a lot of those castles, it's easier than you think.”_

_“As if I'd believe that.”_

_“I still have the clothes from Baron Auclair. I didn't wear them often anymore after I bought new – they fit, but stains are so hard on them and they aren't practical at all.”_

_“Don't get off the subject. I don't believe you.”_

_“I can show you proof.”_

_“No. Better you prove me. Bet you can't get into Château Guillard and steal from there?”_

_“I'll take you on that. Give me time until the ball in three days and I'll get myself a souvenir and victory.”_

_He took the bet, and you got the old clothes you stole back then in shape again, washing and cleaning, revising your knowledge about nobility and their standards, training your role and talking as well as gestures and behavior – not too hard for you to fall back into, and finally, taking almost the entire day today to apply enough make-up to look like a Baron yourself. One o your sisters helped you, smiling when she was done._

_“You look great... Baron Voleur.”_

_She winks, and you laugh._

_“Better choose another name. How about Julien Marchal?”_

_“Sounds as good as anyone. Say, ____, why do you have to look like a man?”_

_“Because things get easier as one. More adventure. More rights. More freedom.”_

_“But it's so dangerous! Imagine you getting caught!”_

_“I've lived like this for about 22 years, mon papillon. Don't worry.”_

_She takes a breath to steady herself. She's only 10, but she can already do a lot of things suited for work and crime alike. You stand up and go to the door, hugging her once and bidding goodbye to the rest of your family. Pierre grins at you._

_“Have fun rotting in the dungeons then.”_

_You grinned back, fully aware he, just as every one of the others, wished you to get back safe. You take some of your money to stop a carriage to bring you near the location of the festivities, already considering what to steal. When you arrive, you say goodbye to the man in the carriage and pay, then walk to the entrance, taking care to not be suspicious to the guards in any way._

The guards let you in because of your caution, and as soon as you're inside of her home, you cannot help but stare at the wealth displayed – proof of a fortune you'd never dream of having. You stay close to the group, catching some of the comments they make, some acknowledging, some displaying hope to have certain things as well, some downright snarky. It makes you want to puke. Those people would never know what luck they had to be born into this life. They would never know the struggle of dirty, torn clothes, no shelter or going to sleep with an empty stomach because your part went to one of the small children. When you pass into the ball room, your stare grows wider. The Baron you had stolen from – he was small compared to this. One man of the group turns around to you, smile so faked that you almost flinch.

“Bonsoir, Monsieur- ?”

“Baron Julien Marchal. It is a pleasure to meet you, Vicomte Parmentier.”

You smile inwards to your eavesdropping, having heard almost every last one of their names. The noble nods in acknowledgement, and you prepare yourself to do the talk you despise to do while you walk in the room together, the guards not minding you now, thinking you were part of his followers.

“I am pleased you know my name, Baron. I have to admit I have never seen you around... say, where are you from?”

“You wouldn't know the place, Vicomte, it is too small to matter to someone like you.”

“Very well. What brings you here on this lovely evening?”

“A Chavalier gave me his invitation as he couldn't attend himself – I was traveling and was fond of doing this for my friend. He asked me to tell him if Comtesse Guillard really is as astonishingly beautiful as tales tell.”

“I have seen her a few times, Baron, and she is a magnificent woman. Makes me wonder why I married so early sometimes.”

“Ah, but sometimes, those strings have to be made, haven't they, Vicomte?”

“Oui. And mostly, my wife satisfies me. Are you married, Baron?”

“Non. I haven't found the right one yet.”

“I believe you will.”

You smile and wink once, not totally sure if he would appreciate this kind of humor, but your class made it hard for you to tell and nothing is better than an experiment.

“Maybe the Comtesse will notice me.”

The Vicomte chuckles, but leans closer to you.

“Take care. Rumor says her last husband was killed by her herself.”

You nod, but still keep a smile on your face.

“I shall take care. Good evening, Vicomte.”

“Good evening, Baron.”

You part ways, relieved to be rid of him for now. You take a look at the buffet, admiring and also shaking your head at the dishes that are on display, disappointed your family may never eat such things. You try to find a way out of the ball room where you'd be able to sneak off to steal from the owner of this place, but you find none too soon, so you keep on guard, watching and taking in the life of the nobles so you at least would have stories to tell if you'd find no way. You see others taking some food away, and so do you after a while, eating a few bites of the most succulent and tasty chicken you had ever eaten, almost sighing at the taste, then drinking a glass of wine that is so good your taste buds celebrate.

_Nobility has it's perks._

You walk around the room some more with wine in your hand – only after seeing others do the same – and going over to some rich fat nobles, greeting them. One of them, you notice, is Vicomte Parmentier.

“Bonsoir, Messieurs. It is a lovely evening to talk.”

“Bonsoir, Baron. This, my friends, is the sublime Baron Julien Marchal, an acquaintance I made today and am sure not to regret. He seems a capable young man.”

“Merci, Vicomte, for the introduction as well as your kind words.”

You bow slightly, noticing with a smile that the nobles are all a bit tipsy by now. 

“May I ask for your names? I don't think we've been introduced by now.”

The Vicomte laughs, standing up.

“As I have already introduced you, I'll take it upon myself to continue this.”

He gestures to the two people with him on the sofa, introducing them.

“This, my friend, is the extravagant Vicomte Chastain.”

Said man is probably the fattest of them all, looking at you through red-rimmed eyes and raising his wine. Parmentier motions for the second, a man of a pretty muscular build.

“And this is the wonderful Chevalier Jauffret.”

You bow again.

“It is my honor to meet you.”

When Parmentier sits back down and invites you to join, you do so, smiling at them and raising your glass.

“Say, what do you think of the wine?”

“Ah, it is good, but I know better.”

“Come on, Chastain, you have to admit it is a very fine one.”

“I remember two years ago when I had a taste of one I would never forget... as well as I forgot its name.”

“Memories make everything sweeter. Who knows, maybe you are drinking it and just remember something too badly?”

You throw in, and the round laughs as Chastain looks at his glass intently, taking another sip.

“Now that you say it, Marchal, I believe it does have certain similarities... I shall ask the Comtesse later on.”

You nod, drinking a bit of yours as well.

“Speaking of which, have you already seen her today? Wearing clothes like a man. A wonder she's not ashamed.”

“She dresses like a man?”

“Oui. Although I do have to say, as scandalous and unnatural as this is, the look suits her.”

“You do?”

“Yes. It brings out the fierceness in her that not many women possess.”

“Aaah, Jauffret, you seem fond of her.”

“She is one special and magnificent woman. Although I wouldn't like to be alone with her.”

Within yourself, you shake your head, listening to the others gossiping about her and rolling your eyes inwardly. They wouldn't know it to be true, yet they still keep talking about how she may have done that, how her husband was found stabbed. You listen closely, hoping to gather something else but rumors about a woman you don't know. But nothing comes, even not after 10 minutes, so you excuse yourself and walk over to the buffet, refilling your wine. You spot a door – luck seems to have found you, but you want to finish your glass first. You lean against the wall, closing your eyes and savoring the taste.

“Enjoying yourself?”

A voice comes from right next to you, and your eyes fly open as you reflexively swallow the wine, almost choking. The woman standing in front of you is beautiful – pale skin, although makeup does play a part in that, lips red and eyes lined with a shade of black. Her hair is dark, black as well, shimmering in a blue tone that is emphasized by her clothes – a blue tailcoat above a white vest and a brown long sleeved shirt, blue and brown pants, an orange cloth around her slim neck, brown boots. Silver, gold and orange decorates her hairdo and wrists as well as her other clothes, decorative elements not too many like on other women in this room, but just sufficient to add to her beauty. She seems a bit cold and distant, yet undeniably attractive. You know who it is.

“Comtesse Guillard, it is my greatest honor.”

She merely nods, gaze curious.

“I don't recall having seen you before, Monsieur-?”

“Marchal. Baron Julien Marchal.”

You take the outstretched hand and hint at a kiss, smiling genuinely at her when you get back up. 

“I have never heard this name before.”

“My family is not well known. We are fairly unimportant. Vicomte Chastain and Chavalier Jauffret also did not recognize me.”

“As I have signed the invitations to this ball, I certainly know your name wasn't among them. What are you doing here?”

“I am here as a friend of Vicomte Parmentier, Comtesse.”

“I see... well, it shall be that way then.”

She sighs. 

“Is the wine to your liking?”

“Indeed. Certainly the best one I ever had the joy of tasting.”

“Are you trying to flatter, Baron?”

“I wouldn't dream of telling lies just to please someone, Comtesse. I am truthful.”

She raises an eyebrow, but says nothing further for now. When you see her eyes flicker to the wine behind you, you immediately take a glass and fill it for her.

“You seemed like you wanted one, Comtesse.”

“Very attentive, Baron. How did you know?”

“Your eyes.”

“What would you mean by that?”

“You looked at the wine for a second during our talk.”

“And that made you think I wanted some?”

“Reading looks is easy once you train, Comtesse.”

_And I certainly had to do that as a thief._

“Interesting. Say, Baron, where are you from?”

“Originally from the south, Comtesse. I'm traveling a lot nowadays and I was excited to be here. I still am. Your Château has a beauty I've never seen.”

“Merci. You said your family is not well known?”

“Indeed. We aren't too rich either. Rarely someone knows who I am – which can be an advantage.”

“Can it?”

“Yes. When being in towns, people don't assume me to be totally noble on the first hand.”

“And that is an advantage?”

“Yes. They act more natural.”

“What is good about that?”

You smile, gesturing to the full ball room.

“How about we go somewhere more silent so we can talk in peace?”

The Comtesse eyes you shortly, then nods and takes you to a balcony outside with a magnificent view of her garden.

“This is beautiful, Comtesse.”

“Merci. You were saying?”

“Hm...? Ah, right. Common people acting natural is a blessing in the way you see how fond they are of nobility. When someone as well-known and high ranking as you comes to town, the people are sure to be acting out as something else, out of fear or... no, mostly fear.”

“You say they play to make you fonder of them?”

“Indeed they do.”

“You have an interesting way of thinking, Baron.”

“I don't know whether that's a compliment, Comtesse. Is it?”

“You have to figure that out by yourself.”

You chuckle. The Comtesse grew more and more in your appreciation. You may have entered this castle with the goal to steal from her, and now, you find yourself fond to continue to spend time with her.

“However, Comtesse, as long as I could talk to you about this, I believe this evening is not suited for that. Would you be fond of sharing a dance?”

You stretch a hand out to her, carefully reminding yourself of all the steps you had once learned. She nods gracefully, allowing you to lead her to the dance floor, joining the dance.  
Her body is warm in your arms, and she smells nice. The perfume she wears is not too overbearing but compliments her in a lot of ways. The stink of nobility is not on her, you notice, but decide not to talk about that to her. 

“Do you live here alone, Comtesse?”

“Not really. My servants are my company.”

You nod, mentally hitting your own head.

“How about you, Baron?”

“I mentioned my travels. There is no one waiting, either.”

She nods, the obligatory dance smile on her face that you return. Although you are dancing the part of the man, you feel her wanting to take the lead, but you don't want to risk falling right now. 

“Is it lonely?”

Her eyes widen, surprised, and she looks as if she is considering your question for a moment.

“Sometimes.”

“My apologies.”

Another nod. Conversation isn't easy for you right now. You desperately search for more topics to talk about when your gaze falls on the buffet for a second and you smile.

“Don't mind me asking, Comtesse, but would you tell me how I can tell your cook that his chicken is exquisite?”

She chuckles and nods over to a servant who rushes to you.

“Monsieur?”

“May I ask you to tell the cook his chicken tastes exquisite?”

“Of course, Monsieur. Who sends his kind words?”

“Baron Julien Marchal. Thank you.”

The servant looks surprised for a second, then bows again and hurries away.

“Not many people thank servants, Baron.”

“Why not? Kind words make days better, and if anyone deserves them, it's those who are always there but still unseen.”

“You have a way with words, Baron.”

“Merci, Comtesse. You flatter me.”

She nods again, and as the song ends, you loosen your hold on her when you feel her arms slipping.

“You are not an ordinary noble, Baron.”

She says it matter-of-factually, and for a moment, you are scared you've become too sucked up into your role, but still remained who you are actually as well. You force yourself to smile.

“A compliment?”

“I do not know yet, Baron.”

You bow lightly, and smile shortly when you stand upright again, eyeing your empty hands.

“Care for more wine, Comtesse?”

She nods and turns around.

“Come to the balcony then, Baron.”

You nod once and walk through the crowd, almost cursing at a drunk lady who steps on your foot, but manage getting two glasses from a servant and walking back without further incidents, enjoying the cool of the night air as soon as you're outside. The moonlight shines beautifully on her hair, and you admire the sight for a moment before stepping in on her side.

“The night is beautiful indeed.”

She nods, taking the wine you offer and looking back into her garden. You stand beside her, enjoying the silence she apparently can provide.

“You are no ordinary noble either, Comtesse.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“Do my clothes make you feel offended as well?”

Her voice has a sharp and annoyed undertone, and you rush to shake your head.

“Non, non. They make you unforgettable – and suit you perfectly, if I might say. Besides, I wasn't fully talking about that. I was talking about the way I've seen you behave – you are graceful, more so than the other women, but still you keep so calm and not start gossiping. You seem a capable ruler from what it seems, and you are very observant. Willing to listen to hard topics. I am... It's a huge honor for me I got to know you.”

“Thank you, Baron.”

“No thanks for the truth, Comtesse.”

She offers you a tiny smile and you return it after a second. She lifts her glass and you do as well, enjoying the wine in silence. When it is empty, you plan to bring it back to a servant inside – which is when you trip on the tiles and fall down face-first, wanting to catch yourself but still managing to hit your head on the wall. 

“Oh goddamn sh-”

You stop yourself an inch from cursing, and groan when you get up. The Comtesse is above you, looking somewhat worried. 

“You're bleeding.”

She stays calm, and your admiration grows to that – being as well she fumbles a cloth from her pocket and presses it to the bleeding wound, smiling when you muster up the strength to keep it in place alone. 

“Thank you, Comtesse.”

She nods, extending a hand to help you up. You are amazed by her, her sheer willingness to help and smile, but get up mostly by yourself, even if you do take her hand. 

“I will be fine, merci.”

She nods again, lips a thin line. You nod towards her, smiling apologetically.

“I shall take my leave then – blood is not a good stain on the dance floor. Bonne nuit, Comtesse.”

“Bonne nuit, Baron. You may take my carriage.”

“That is... that is very kind of you.”

She nods again and orders one of her servants to prepare it further, and soon after, you have bidden goodbye to everyone you talked to and stand outside where a magnificent black and red carriage is waiting. You bow before the Comtesse at the entrance.

“Thank you for this wonderful evening, Comtesse Guillard. May our paths cross again.”

“Same for you, Baron Marchal.”

You hop into the ride, and sigh, eyeing the cloth you have as a proof for your family, and allowing the mask of your past to slip away so you can become who you truly are again and always will be – a thief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me what you think, because I personally don't fully know yet what to do. This fic is not supposed to be too long, but please, I want to know if there are people who'd be okay with continuing to read this.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me a lot of research to do this and I hope it works out. I apologize for the wait, and I want to thank everyone who left one for their comment.

You ask the carter to let you out in front of the most expensive guesthouse in town, and wait until he drives away, around a corner, and then walk to the old building your family lives in. The night has already reached a certain point, but still, darkness is the hour of thieves. Some nobles residing in this town for the night may find their purses gone by tomorrow.   
You knock on the door, four times in a rhythm that was agreed on by your family a long time ago, and still, you know someone is eyeing you through one of the inconspicuous holes placed in strategical places. The door does not open, but you recognize the voice from inside.

“Who are you? You don't belong here.”

“André, you should know I was out today. It's me, ____.”

“No lies?”

“Non, chaton.”

A laugh is heard from inside and then, the 12-year-old opens the door and let's you in.

“Welcome back, Baron!”

You chuckle and pat his head.

“Seems my nickname has been found. Did anything happen tonight?”

“Non. Nothing.”

“That's good. I'll be going to my room then. How long is your watch?”

“Only Lydia is missing now. But I hope she'll be back soon.”

“Don't count on it. If she isn't there in an hour, wake someone else to take over.”

“Aye, Baron!”

You chuckle and shake your head, then head to your room. Those people are your family. Children from the streets, with no place to go. The orphanages and other institutes like this are much too bad in condition to go, so most tried to push through somehow. When one of your people finds them, they take a look, watching for a few days and then maybe inviting them in if they promise enough. If not, they cannot come in – a harsh way to act, but there are many mouths to feed here and everyone has to contribute to that. You are the leader of this family, a thief and casual worker if something is okay for you to do, but that's not uncommon. Pierre is a mercenary sometimes, taking money and then some of your family to go punish someone who pissed off a rich man in the town. To your worries, some of your sisters sell their bodies at night, but you have asked them if they are okay with that about a thousand times now. Life is hard. Contrary to what you've just seen inside the Château.  
You undress, washing off the makeup and undoing your hair, climbing into bed. The mattress is rough, as always, and the sheets are thin. Even though you have your own room as leader, you insisted on a bed not better than any of what the others own. The most comfortable ones are for the children anyway.  
You fall asleep, drifting away to the far realms of slumber.

_The room is dimly lit, only the lights of candles burn, but not really enough to clearly see anything. Blue dances in front of you, with you, blue and brown, black and red, white and orange, silver and gold, a smile, a hand on your arm and one in yours, your other hand on a slim waist without a corset, but you know it is a woman, but not just anyone._   
_The Comtesse is dancing with you again, and you are alone in that ball room, and the darkness is wearing over the light. But what light is there illuminates her striking features beautifully, her tailcoat flowing behind her, her boots as well as yours making noises in the room without music, you two lost in a dance in the twilight._   
_You don't know who it is that leads this dance, but it doesn't matter. Your breaths sound in with your steps, and she is warm against you, and soft, but you can sense the muscles in her body. She isn't one of those pretty women who sit around in their corsets, eating just as much as the constricting garment allowed, no, she is dangerous and powerful. Strong and fierce. A huntress._   
_You feel her leaning forward to whisper in your ear._

_“And maybe you'll be my prey.”_

You wake up, startled and surprised, but without a noise. It is early morning already, so you decide you might as well get up and something done for the family. You dress yourself in your usual attire, plain (but still male) clothes, color a dirty gray that fits the streets, making you practically invisible. You walk in the main hall, where quite a few people already sit and enjoy a light breakfast – bread and a bit of oatmeal for the smaller children. You take a slice for yourself and some of the water you collect in old barrels when it rains to drink, and sit down. Pierre comes over, grinning.

“Not in the dungeons, then?”

“No, as you can see. I was successful.”

“And your proof?”

You take out the cloth the Comtesse gave you, and even though there's blood on it, it clearly has her initials stitched onto it. Pierre takes the cloth and examines it.

“Why the blood?”

“Got hurt and wiped it away.”

“Ah. Did someone see you?”

“A lot of people did, but no one even thought I was a thief. I even danced with the Comtesse herself.”

“You're kidding.”

“Non. You should know I don't usually lie.”

“Hmmm... okay, that bet is your point.”

He throws the cloth in your lap, and you put it in your pocket, resuming your meal. But not soon after, Léa, the youngest of your sisters tugs at your shirt, looking up to you through curious eyes.

“____, did you really dance with her?”

“Yes, ma belle.”

“Woooooah. How is she?”

“She's really pretty. And quite okay to be around, for a noble.”

“Why?”

“She actually listens without feeling the urge to gossip or talk a lot about herself.”

“And other nobles do that?”

“Yes, little one. Some nobles have their heads so full of themselves that no one else matters.”

“But we don't matter to the nobles anyway, do we?”

From behind you, Claudette emerges and sits down, her breakfast in front of her. You look at her sadly, she has a new bruise on her eye.

“Come with me after breakfast, please.”

You half-order, half-ask, and she nods, after that you continue your conversation as if nothing happened.

“No, the nobles usually don't give anything about us.”

You sigh, and small Léa pouts.

“But we matter, don't we?”

“Not to them. They say God gave them the right to be noble, but I bet the Lord doesn't care who is born where.”

Léa looks sad, so you pat her head and smile apologetically.

“I'm sorry, little one. One day, you'll be sure to be a princess, I'm sure.”

“Really?”

“If anyone deserves that, then you.”

“Thank you!”

The small girl smiles and runs off to her friends, the other children up to 13 who beg for money and steal in one go. You remain there with Claudette, eating together in silence, and when you're finished, you take her up to an empty room you often use to talk and motion for her to sit down. With a frown, you notice she is limping a bit.

“Who gave you that bruise?”

“Straight to the point, eh, Baron?”

You chuckle at your new nickname, then your gaze hardens again.

“Claudette. Please.”

She sighs, but shakes her head. You sit next to her, put your hand on her shoulder and look straight into her eyes. 

“Claudette.”

She holds your gaze for a few seconds, then she leans forward, sobbing into your shoulder.

“It was Florent.”

“Your boss?”

“Mhm... he said I bring less money in and some people may be into that and so he beat me as punishment and so on and I couldn't do anything but I'm so scared...”

“Shhhh... I'll take care of that. For now, you won't go there today.”

“But we need the money...”

“We need you healthy at first hand. I will go there today.”

“You will?”

“Yes. And I'll take Pierre and some others along.”

“Oh...”

“We'll look for a new place for you, given you still want to do this job.”

“I have no alternatives and I don't want to walk around like you. I'm sorry.”

“You have alternatives.”

“And what?”

“Go to Marc, he should know some places. Tell me your decision later today. For now, please make sure your wounds get treated.”

“O-okay.”

She gets up and you follow, taking her to Claude's room – the guy who tries his best to treat wounds, he ran away from a barber surgeon after the man had brutally beaten him – but his knowledge stayed.

“Claude, may you take a look at her?”

“I will.”

“Thank you.”

You let her with him and then go back to the others, taking your stuff and smearing some more dirt on your face, then bidding goodbye before heading out into town, about to slit some purses and steal some food. You make your way to the quarter of the high society in town, richer folks and landowners who have a residence here. You smile inwardly as you pass the guesthouse, deciding to maybe try your luck there as well later on, as maybe some of the nobles who were guests yesterday are possible to have a room there.  
You walk to the market like this, always taking care no one looks at you for too long, and enjoy the mass of people there. The street is packed and there isn't much space between the stalls, making it perfect for you to take what you want. You see someone walking in the opposite direction of you, and someone else just shortly in front of you, both looking ridiculously rich and fat, and decide to use that. You pretend to be in a hurry and excuse yourself when you bump into the man in front of you, taking his purse using your small knife to cut it from his belt, and as he curses at you for bumping into him, you turn around and apologize, his purse in your bag, and over the shoulder angle your way so you'd bump into the other man as well, making him fall down.

“I'm so sorry, Monsieur, let me help you.”

You help him up and take his purse as well in the process, apologizing again and hurrying away before they would notice. You duck into a small alley and climb between a few barrels standing there – so you are at the tavern for the rich people now. You put the money in the pocket that is sewn into the inside of your shirt and then leave both purses back, walking to the other end of the alley and heading out there, careful not to be seen by anyone.   
You wander across the rather large market, paying attention to your surroundings, slitting a purse here or stealing another entirely somewhere else, intent to make money for the people you call family to ensure their food and shelter. It's been too long since someone ever caught you, but you try not to become too sucked into self-confidence, try not to take risks too large. Caution is the key to thievery, so being safe really matters more than having a lot of money.   
You stay until the early afternoon, then heading back to your shelter, a harder trip now your pockets cling with every step because of the money in them – even more attention is needed, more care to your surroundings. You make it back safely, slipping through the door after the “guard” on duty has let you in, walking over to your room to count your theft. It's not as much as it could be, but that doesn't matter too much as it's at least an amount that can make itself useful someday. You go to the room underground where other houses sometimes store food in holes dug into the earth – for you, those holes are filled with money, but a plate with food is above that treasure. You put your loot in, splitting it in Sols and Deniers, storing those separately – if someone needs money, it's always practical to have a bit of both.   
When you're done, you go up to the main room again, wanting to grab a bite before heading out again, and to your luck, there's bread and a bit of vegetables, which you accept gladly and dig in, eating in silence as almost no one else is here at the given time. But suddenly, one of your brothers storms in, calling out your name.

“____! You won't believe this!”

“What is it, Réne?”

“I saw a servant of the Comtesse!”

“And?”

“He was in the super expensive guesthouse and asked for you!”

“He didn't.”

“He did! He said Baron Marchal! And he said the Comtesse wishes to speak to you!”

“How do you know?”

“I followed him. He looked so nice on his horse!”

“Oh.”

“But the guy there said he doesn't know anyone of this name.”

“He obviously won't.”

“What will you do now, Baron?”

You chuckle, looking at the boy with amusement in your eyes.

“I don't know, honestly. I'm flattered I made an impression, though.”

“Of course! You're great!”

“Thank you, little one.”

“Maybe you could write a letter? I heard women like that.”

“Good idea. I hope I can still manage the spelling... it's been ages.”

“You could ask Evrard. He could help you.”

“True... Thank you.”

“Sure! Do you know where André is?”

“On the lower market, I think.”

“I'll go there!”

“Take care, alright?”

“Yes!”

With that, the little guy storms off, leaving you chuckling to his enthusiastic behavior. You stand up yourself, looking for Evrard. He had been an apprentice in a monastery once, learned to read and write in Latin and French, but he had run away because while he was fond of religion, the forced rules and seclusion had been too much – now, he usually spends his days with keeping the house beautiful and tidy, or he teaches people who want to know things that may interest them. You find him in the room he shares with Claude, and he notices when you come in.

“____, it's good to see you.”

“Bonjour, Evrard. Have you got a moment for me?”

“Always. How can I help?”

“You know of my trip to Château Guillard?”

“Of course. Everyone here does – although we made sure no one would tell.”

“Merci. See, I had the chance to talk to Comtesse Guillard herself and apparently, she took interest in Baron Marchal.”

“That's interesting. Now, where is the part I can help you with?”

“I want to write a letter but I don't remember the correct spelling of every word and my handwriting isn't as neat as it was long ago. May you help?”

“Shall I write the letter for you or do you want to write it yourself and only let me train you?”

“Train me, please.”

“Very well. Come on.”

He gets up in a fluid motion and then walks to a small room with a table in it, motioning for you to sit down while he keeps standing himself. He takes out a bit of paper and a pencil and hands them to you.

“Write down the alphabet in capital and small letters, please. I'll just get something you will need as well.”

You sit down and begin writing, and the letters looks quite ugly and not proportional – you might have forgotten one or two and probably made a mistake in the order, but you feel like you're doing good. Evrard soon comes back, holding something to drink for the both of you in one hand and some soft bread in the other.

“I've just eaten, Evrard.”

“It's not for eating. If you made a mistake, you can erase it. But don't try to eat the bread afterwards, please. It gets all dirty.”

You nod, thanking him and finishing your task, and he takes the paper and reads it out aloud, commenting on your doing.

“A-B-C, by the way, the C looks quite good, D-E-F-G-I, you've missed the H there, J-K-L-N-M, mhm, first the M, then the N, O-P-R, the Q is missing, S, nice bow there, T-U-W-V, again, you've turned the order of V and W around, X-Y-Z. Overall, it looks good. I'll write the entire thing down for you and you'll just copy every letter 7 times, alright?”

“Yes.”

He nods and writes quickly, then hands the sheet to you. You look at the task and begin, copying every letter, slowly at first, then quicker with every try, doing it more often than 7 times in the end because you don't want to disappoint. When you place the pencil next to you, there admittedly are some breadcrumbs around you, but Evrard's appreciating nod is a nice reward. 

“What do you want to write in the letter?”

“I don't know, honestly.”

“Do you want to meet her?”

“It seems like she'd be fond of meeting me. I can't turn that down.”

“I see... then you should write something like that. Although setting a date would be good as she cannot really answer you, can she?”

“Non. Maybe I should write I'm quite busy?”

“Yes. That sounds good. How about...”

You spend a lot of time discussing what exactly to write and how to phrase it so sound noble, but not too over the top. You slip into the role of Baron Marchal in the process, phrasing the sentences like you would have when you'd have been standing right in front of the Comtesse at that point. After you've set the words, Evrard writes them down once for you to look and manage the spelling and letter aesthetics, and you do need a few tries until your handwriting resembles the one of a noble, and another few to make the letter as perfect as it can be.

_Dearest Comtesse Guillard,_   
_I hope you're having an enjoyable day and your surroundings are to your pleasure._   
_I sincerely apologize for not being in the guesthouse when your servant was there to search me – I found out about that a few hours ago when returned from the errand I had to do for a friend of mine. My next days will be equally as busy, I am afraid, but my next free time would be the evening in three days – I will visit you in your Château then. Unfortunately, I will not be able to receive any answering letters, so frankly, I do not know if you have time then. If not, I humbly would ask you to inform a servant and ask him to tell me when you can so I can talk to him at your gates... A sad replacement, as my joy would be talking to you, but I cannot expect you to have time when I do. I will be there, and I wish you can be as well._   
_With the best of wishes for the next days and in hope to see you soon,_   
_Baron Marchal_

You smile and show the letter to Evrard, who skims it and nods then, folding it expertly and packing it away in an envelope, then sealing it before giving it back.

“It's good. What will you do during those three days?”

“Get another costume. A nobleman doesn't usually show up in the same attire twice.”

“You're right, but don't make it too expensive please.”

“Maybe I'll just sneak into the houses of the rich and take a coat of theirs.”

“Risk would be she recognizes that one though.”

“Darn... in that case, I will have to get one made. I will need the money from below. I'll try to fill what I take.”

“Do that. What will you tell the Comtesse?”

“I don't know yet, I'm afraid.”

“I see. It's your choice, but I would advise you to end this before it can start. We cannot afford you meeting with her often. And the risk of getting caught grows with every time.”

“I know. That would probably be for the best.”

“Indeed. As I said, your choice. You're the leader, I trust your word.”

“Thank you, Evrard.”

“No worries... Baron.”

He winks and leaves the room, leaving you to chuckle and take the letter up to your room. You wash and change into your noble clothes again before getting a lot of money you would need from the holes in the basement and then walking to the exit, hoping no one would look too intently. You silently make your way out and into the streets, carefully acting your role to hide who you are, and head to the post office, handing the letter in and paying the small fee it would take to deliver it there, adding another coin with a wink, and the courier leaves with speed, taking a horse from outside and storming off. You smile to yourself and go to the tailor, looking at the attire on display and choosing a rather nice red, longsleeved tailcoat with a black vest and pants matching it, paying the shop owner the money needed after lowering the price a little due to your excessive discussions and bargaining, smiling when you leave, the stride of nobles in your step.   
You consider talking to other high-ranking inhabitants of this town, but choose not to, as if you would end this farce with Comtesse Guillard, no one would ever need to know that Baron Marchal exists, as he doesn't, he is simply a role of the probably most wanted thief in town, whom to no one knows the name, but almost every rich man has a few coins to bemoan. You get a few odd looks though, as your face it not known among those people, thus, they try to look at you to see whether they may take profit from knowing you – the more noble contacts one has, the better the chances to climb up the social ladder – a game easily played but not easily won, as if one knew a noble well, certain services were expected in exchange for such, and if they fall in his or her liking, so does their reputation. Caution is the key, in thievery as well as this. You chuckle about the similarities once.

_It is all about money, it seems._

After watching some people intently to look at their behavior without trying to steal – although you wanted to, but it doesn't seem good and unobtrusive as a noble, you walk back to the house, purse almost empty and also hidden beneath your clothes so no one may steal a single coin. The guard lets you in without question as he is the same who let you out, and you give him a smile before heading up to your room, storing your clothes away and changing before practically falling into the bed, immediately passing out after an exhausting day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It would be my pleasure to see what you think of this story. Comments make an author's day, ya know.


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